Conobar, Barbarian of Cimmeria
=Appearance= Conobar is a tall man, greatly shouldered and deep of torso, with a thick corded neck and heavily muscled limbs. He has long, dark hair, stunningly blue eyes and has a distinct cross of scars on his forehead, above his left eye. Typically, the Barbarian will dress in the garb of the land and culture in which he finds himself, though he keeps a necklace that is personal to him from his past. =Personality= As with most Cimmerians, Conobar can be prone to following his own sense of moral compass. He would willingly break a civilized 'law' to remain honor-bound to a close friend or comrade, and he views killing in a form of simplistic justice; namely, if a murderer is willing to take a man's life, then his being is forfeit and there is no wrong in cutting that murderer down. Despite his almost brutish appearance, and the common misconception that comes with it, Conobar is able to use both his brawn and his brain. He has learned the value of attacking an enemy with overwhelming strength, but he has also understood and uses ambushing and subtlety. The Barbarian knows the difference between a battle he can win, and one that can be fought another day; and he has never been prone to the mindless savagery of typical wild men, not unless his anger and bloodlust are filled as his sword or axe bites deeply into the flesh of his enemies. Conobar believes in the laws of nature, and holds true to the Cimmerian way of life: Crom gave him everything he needed to survive in this life, and he has neither need nor reason to ask for anything more. When he views ‘civilization’, he sees both weakness and servitude, and he does well to keep away from the cities of man when able, which seem to be increasing in presence across the land. In some ways, Conobar feels that the world around is changing… and not necessarily for the better. =Abilities= Due to magic passed down by his mother, Conobar either ages very slowly, or not at all. He appears to have physically reached his aging peak at around the mid-twenties. Conobar also shares an affinity with polar bears, seemingly empathic in nature. =History= In the far Northern reaches of Cimmeria, a cave near the Temple of the Wild would be the future home of the warrior known as Conobar. His mother, Ursla, the Priestess of the Northern Snows, was visited by a young explorer that answered to the name of Conan the Cimmerian. He had been venturing for the last few winters through the dangerous mountains bordering the Vanir lands beyond, and had been found wandering. Ursla offered the young man refuge from the elements in her cave, which he accepted. Unbeknownst to the young Conan, whom was all of fifteen winters passed, Ursla was known by a few men of the woodland as being of the carnal sort. When the two were comfortable enough to converse, having shared wine, the young Cimmerian was told of the Priestess’ true nature, and how men would often visit her during the long, lonely winters; and in his naivety, Conan asked what she meant, to which she showed him. Following the departure of the Cimmerian, Ursla became laden with child and gave birth to a dark haired, blue eyed boy, whom she named Conobar. Following a series of rituals performed on her in the past, Ursla’s body had unknowingly imbued her son with magical aspects that forced the child to grow prematurely. Within seven winters, Conobar had the physicality of a fit, healthy fifteen year old; while his mind, having to compensate for the rapid growth of his body, developed at an astounding rate, bringing a high degree of intelligence and wisdom. From since he could remember, another young Cimmerian by the name of Baresh had been Conobar’s closest friend. Originally, Baresh appeared the older of the two, but Conobar soon developed to closely resemble his friend’s years. The two played together, fought side by side, and learnt the ways of the wilds as companions that shared the same thirst for adventure. However, where Conobar was destined to become a Priest, the same could not be said of Baresh, who had come to the Temple as an orphan following the death of his parents at the hands of Vanir raiders; it seemed his lot was to serve in the Temple Legion, a small group of fighters dedicated to defending the holy place from the Vanir. On his seventh birthday, Conobar was inducted into the ranks of the Temple of the Wild, a religious group that were dedicated to worshipping the nature goddess, Wiccana. Following his successful completion of the rituals of nature, Conobar became a Priest of the Northern Snows, taking residence in the mountains high in the Cimmerian lands. From his mother, the young man was given a pet polar bear that would serve as his animal companion. As was befitting his station, Conobar soon found followers that sought to learn the ways he had been taught. For a while the young man was content to act as the leader of those who followed his teachings, however he could not deny the yearning for adventure; already he had learnt the art of the blade, dedicating himself to becoming a fearsome fighter. His skill with both sword and axe became well-known, as did his exploits while serving in the Temple legion, though his mother was displeased with the fact. Nearing the end of winter, almost a year after his having become a Priest of the Wild, Conobar sensed that tragedy had fallen upon his servant polar bear. Sending his followers out to investigate, they soon returned with a young man in hand, a blabbering dolt that answered to the name of Peleon, son of Tolek. As it came to pass, following a lengthy conversation with the outsider, Conobar soon realized that Peleon was not responsible for having killed the polar bear, and surmised that it had been someone else, a mighty warrior of some sort. The two continued to share information, Peleon revealing that a hunting group had been out raiding for Picts, when the bear had stumbled across them; in defence, as the bear had attempted to attack Peleon, a Cimmerian warrior had defeated it, skewering the animal with his sword. Conobar knew that it would only be a matter of time until the warrior arrived, and the young Cimmerian planned to extract revenge for the death of his pet. It came as no surprise when a large man burst into the cave dwelling, demanding the release of the dolt, Peleon. Dark haired and blue eyed, both Conobar and Conan were not aware of the blood they shared, and the younger Cimmerian challenged his father to a fight to the death. As ferocious as Conobar was with his blade, his opponent felt not the excitement of facing such a young, inexperienced foe; as such, Conan remained on the defensive, simply toying with the other. This, however, caused a mighty rage to boil up within Conobar, and the young man lashed out wildly, scoring a hit against Conan’s neck that drew a thick line of blood. Out of reflex, the older Cimmerian stabbed out, putting his sword through the young Priest’s chest. It was a fatal blow, one that left Conobar dying slowly from the deep wound. Out of a sudden curiosity, Conan asked the young man from where he had come, to which Conobar told of his mother being a Priestess of the wild, but died before he could describe his father. Following the death of Conobar, and the release of the prisoner, Peleon spoke up and informed Conan that he had been told of the dead boy’s father: he had been a blue-eyed Cimmerian who had visisted his mother in winters past… When Conan returned Peleon to his father’s care, he informed him that in his act to protect Tolek’s heir, he had unwittingly slain his own. In a sign of sincere regret, the Cimmerian buried his son between the mounds of his ancestors outside of the Snowhawk tribe village, where only snow-covered dirt remained. Ursla, following the news of the death of her son, came to the place where Conobar’s body had been laid to rest. Filled with a deep anguish, she pleaded to her goddess to return the boy, to bring him back from the cold grip of death; yet, since before she could remember, her prayers went unanswered. In a final act of mourning, Ursla pierced her flesh and let droplets of her blood cover the freshly disturbed soil, before she said her final farewells and returned to the Temple to pass on the bad tidings. The following day the Priestess returned, and was both shocked and horrified to discover that her son’s grave was empty; the snow and dirt having been clawed and dug away from the inside. As a mother would, she searched for passage of her child, but even with the aid of her polar bears she could not find his trail. In defeat, Ursla came to the decision that Conobar had been taken in both body and soul, and would forever reside in the heavens above, watching over those below. Yet, that end was not the whole tale, and Conobar was not dead… Following the blood ritual over his grave, the young Cimmerian had felt the breath renewed in his lungs, albeit it soon faltered to the taste of dirt. Eyes wide, Conobar knew he had been buried, though he knew not how he came to be where he was. But, out of pure survival instinct, the boy dug at the ground, clawing away until he could finally manage to draw clear air. He soon crawled from the shallow grave where he had been placed, and looked about with no knowledge of who he was, or where he had come; all he knew was that he needed to find shelter, and escape the freezing cold of the mountains around him. For months the young man travelled, walking the borders between the Pictish Wilderness and Aquilonia. He ate off the land, killing what he needed to survive, while doing well to conceal his tracks from the prying eyes of the native warriors that sought to find the invader to their lands. After what seemed an age, especially for one who had no memory of his life, the boy came upon a small coastal village on the North-Western side of Zingara. Seeking aid in the tavern, the young Cimmerian soon came to find himself in the service of a fishing captain; he was offered a place to sleep, a meal a day, and all he had to do was work on the boat that would go out to sea daily. Life continued as such for many years, the young boy growing into a young man. Tall, muscled, with a strong jaw, dark hair and stunningly blue eyes, it was evident that he was of Cimmerian stock. At the age of twenty-one, the young man still did not know his name, or where he came from, only that he remembered the cold snowy mountains of the North; as such, he was given the apt title of ‘boy’, to which he did not mind nor care. It was by chance that a wandering pilgrim passed through the coastal village. When the half-crazed woman saw the Cimmerian, she immediately walked over to him, reaching out wrinkled hands to examine his face and eyes; yet, what she looked for did not seem to be present, and she excused herself and continued on her way. Confused, and rightly so, the young man asked what the woman had been seeking, to which she replied that she had believed him to be someone she had once known, and followed: a young Priest by the name of Conobar… For the next few nights, the Cimmerian was plagued with dark dreams; he felt his mind trying to break through the fog that clouded his memories, and on the third day he awoke to realize that his name was as the old pilgrim had said. It was a revelation that threw the young man’s world into even more shadow, as he tried to remember more of his past life to no avail. Despite his good fortune of knowing his name, the truth of it was that such memories were bittersweet. Life continued on, and where Conobar had once believed his life would change if he but knew his name, soon that hope collapsed into ash in his heart. None the less, the village still needed fish, and Conobar was still under the service of his captain. On one particular clear morning, the fishing boat was attacked by raiders that had come from down the South coast in large ships with full sails. Of all the men aboard, only the young Cimmerian put up a fight, where he killed three raiders with his bare hands before being taken prisoner and shackled. Due to his size and strength, the Cimmerian was spared his life and taken onboard as a slave to man the oars. The slaves were controlled by one foul-smelling, obese Stygian by the name of Saddur. He alone acted as the ships slavemaster, and his thorned whip would crack across Conobar’s shoulders many times later that same day, as Saddur saw the dangerous glint in the Cimmerian’s eye, the boiling rage that was barely contained beneath the surface. For the next three days, Conobar manned the oars of the slaving vessel. He was chained in the middle of the vessel, where the rowing was the hardest, and was surrounded by a large number of fellow slaves. Conditions were pitiful, food was next to nothing, and the Cimmerian knew that he could not endure for much longer, not without beating Saddur to death with his whip. Yet, that fantasy never came to pass, for the slaveship was attacked by another force of vessels just off the coast of the Barachan Isles. The slaveship was thrown into disarray, fires burning and smoke filling the small space where the oars were manned. The captain called for the order to abandon ship, and then there was a deafening roar as the entire side of the vessel was torn apart by enemy fire, and Conobar knew no more… From the darkness, a single voice seemed to pierce the veil of death, and it was both soothing and curious: “So then... you're not quite dead.” =Awards=